Flirting With Disaster (2 page)

He said without blinking, “Car trouble put
me off my usual game.”

Naomi cleared her throat while squeezing the
hell out of Brooke's arm. Evidently, Brooke’s five minutes were up,
and that time hadn’t been enough.

Brooke said, “I would wish you a good night
but we both know I wouldn't mean it.”

He laughed. It was low and smooth and did
something to her that made her nipples bead against the dress. His
wandering gaze went to her lips. “That's what your mouth says.” He
nodded to Naomi. “You look beautiful, as usual.”

Out the corner of her eye, Brooke saw Naomi
boosting that smile of hers—the one that made men stop in their
tracks. Her friend followed it up with, “And what do you know about
cars, Dane?”

“
Enough.” His tone actually
sounded modest. “But I have a thing for classics.”

Despite herself, Brooke perked up.

Naomi said, “Really? Do you own any?”

“
That's what Juan is
picking up. Just bought a junker, drove it home. Or almost, before
it crapped out on me. I need someone to bring it home for me and
see what can be done.”

Brooke found that biting her tongue wasn't
working. “Make? Model? Year?”

Dane's brow lifted. “Are you
interested?”

She chose to interpret his question without
any innuendo. “Might be.”

Shit
. Her answer didn't sound like she avoided the innuendo at
all. This was also part of their ritual. They had been doing this
dance for a year and not much had changed.

Dane tilted his head in challenge. “Ready to
take back what you said to me?”

And there was their point of contention, and
why she'd never ask if it was lust or loathing she saw in his gaze.
She didn't have trouble admitting when she was wrong. Over a year
ago, he’d driven his car into her shop—more like his Mercedes
bucked and puttered, billowing smoke from under the hood—and she'd
sat in the office, watching the whole thing play out from her
window that looked out onto the main workspace. Curious, but busy
with paperwork, she’d let her sometime assistant, Jake, handle that
first meet. When Jake had clocked out for the day, she'd fixed
Dane's car.

Dane had checked in the next morning, and as
usual, she'd worn a ball cap and coveralls. She hadn't mistaken his
surprise when he saw that her uniform hugged breasts. She
definitely hadn't misread his skeptical expression when she'd told
him she'd fixed the problem within hours. And there’d been no
confusion over the fact he'd used his oh-how-cute-you-little-woman
voice when he praised her for fixing his Mercedes.

Some other woman might have been a great
example for all womankind if given the opportunity to confront him
over that exchange, but Brooke had ripped him a new asshole for
being chauvinistic and condescending. In return, he had pretty much
called her an overly sensitive shrew.

And therein was why the world had no
justice. Despite his many faults, Dane was still a handsome
bastard. With a smile or a quip delivered in a dry tone, he made
her want to be the kind of woman who made excuses for chauvinism.
Briefly, very, very briefly, because she'd been jerked around on
that rodeo before and had the scars on her heart to prove it.

So, yeah, Dane was exactly her type, and
she'd run long and hard from that for a damn good reason.

She steeled her spine and said, “I'm not
taking back a word. I might even add a few if I'm feeling
frisky.”

He shook his head in disappointment. “And
that's why you're not touching my car.”

Naomi dropped her arm. “A classic car,
though? I've been trying to come up with ideas to do a charity
event. Something that's my own pet project for the mayor. Something
he'd go for. He shot down my community garden idea.”

“
Why?” Brooke asked. Naomi
hadn’t mentioned it before.

“
Too expensive. Not enough
people to volunteer or donate. Cars are something different. In
this town there are plenty of people who have classics they've let
turn into clunkers.”

Brooke frowned, trying to see the end goal.
“I've seen more than my fair share when I've driven through
town.”

“
Exactly,” Naomi said with
excitement. “I'm thinking of talking a few people into donating
those cars. You fix them. We...I don't know. Do a calendar with the
cars looking spiffy, sell those calendars, and then auction off the
vehicles.”

Of course Brooke was interested in an idea
like that. She could write off the venture, maybe get some clients
thrown her way. She chanced a glance at Dane, and he had the same
this-could-work kind of expression.

The last thing she needed was to be stuck
with him for any amount of time that didn't include bickering. She
just might forget why he was a jackass to begin with.

The click of a lighter made her blink back
to attention. Heat crept up to her face. Dane had taken all her
focus without even trying, and she’d practically forgotten Juan Jr.
was there. Perhaps that proved her point she and Dane should limit
their time with each other.

“
We have to go,” she
said.

“
But—” Naomi started, but
Brooke grabbed her arm.

She turned. “Juan Jr., good seeing you. Hope
to never see you in Tanner Creek again.”

Juan Jr. snorted. “That'll require you to be
nice to everyone in town.”

“
See you soon then?” she
said on a laugh, her steps slow because Dane hadn't spoken
yet.

“
And me?” Dane's timbre
finally slid down her spine and did wonderful things to her
insides.

“
You, Dane?” her voice came
out husky. “A long walk. A short pier. Must I spell it
out?”

He laughed as though he enjoyed their
sparing like it was foreplay to some really, really hot and
mind-blowing angry sex. She shivered and ignored the urge to prove
her theory right. She was lucky she'd escaped disaster once
again.

CHAPTER TWO

Dane Nichols looked up at the City Hall
building and sighed. The two-story brick building sat like a jewel
in the town square. Converted from a schoolhouse fifty years ago,
they'd added on some modern additions. It didn't matter to him, not
now. He wasn't here for the view or to piggyback off the Wi-Fi like
he sometimes did during a lunch break. He was here to talk to Naomi
who worked in that pretty building.

He'd moved here for a fresh start and hoped
he could run a small bookstore—Nichols' New and Used Books—that
wouldn't die within the first year. Independent bookstores were
dying all over the country. Somehow he'd made it, barely. Something
drastic was necessary to bring him over the hump for year two.

Dane climbed the steps, opened the door, and
there to his right sat Naomi at her desk. Three days before, on
Friday, she had had smoky eyeshadow that made her brown eyes seem
wider, more sultry. Yeah, he felt the natural hit of attraction to
a beautiful woman, but it was nothing compared to how Brooke made
his heart race.

That surly mechanic found him maddening and
vice versa. They traded quips whenever they met, and it was insane
for him to be charmed nonetheless by her biting retorts. Yet, it
felt like an epic tango whenever they sparred, and Dane would be
lying if he said he didn't look forward to their exchanges.

If, a big one, he'd done what she'd accused,
he'd have readily apologized. But he'd gone into Hall's Mechanic
and Body Shop, expecting to find a slender redheaded man working
under a hood of a car, and instead there she was in a ball cap and
coveralls decorated with engine oil.

The outfit couldn't hide the full hips and
high and tight breasts. Everything about her was lush and soft and
had hit him with an intense longing he hadn't felt in a long while,
if ever. He did what any man would do in the same situation: he'd
flustered, and then shamelessly flirted with her.

Brooke had taken that as some sort of slap
to her choice in profession. He didn't find it surprising that it
was a sore spot. He did find it annoying as fuck she felt the need
to berate him for a perceived slight. So after she implied he was a
misogynistic asshole, he politely suggested she should jump off the
stick that was lodged up her ass.

And thus began their war of words.

If her initial reaction
hadn't set him so on edge, he would have tried to hit the reset
button to put them on better footing. But she
had
set him on edge, and now he
welcomed their bickering. He'd never forget what or who she
reminded him of—women so bitter that all men had to pay for any and
all perceived slights. He'd loved a woman like that before, and in
his opinion, types like her were no better than men who felt all
women should pay for their exes's faults.

He blew out a breath to let that anger go
when the door's turtle-slow hinge finally shut behind him with a
loud thud. Naomi glanced up, her eyes widened in surprise at first,
then a smile crept over her face.

No change in his pulse. Nothing. Life simply
wasn't fair. Naomi should be the one who made his blood roar. She
seemed uncomplicated, nice and looked happy to see him whenever he
came around. Except it was Brooke...

“
Morning, Naomi,” he said.
“You look beautiful, as always.” The words weren't a line, he meant
them. Unfortunately all he felt toward her was a general
appreciation of her beauty.

“
Now why can't you be that
charming to Brooke?”

He sidestepped the question. “What you said
on Friday got me thinking.”

She straightened. “About the calendar?”

“
About doing something with
the community. I know you're bringing in a new librarian soon and
hoping to boost patron numbers. I have an idea that could be
beneficial to both the town and Nichols' New and Used
Books.”

She pursed her lips. “What you want is a
meeting with the mayor?”

He smiled and stepped closer to her desk. “A
meeting with you. An hour of your time for me to explain it. You
approach the mayor and this can be your pet project.”

Naomi sat up, ambition lighting in her eyes.
“Oh, you're good.”

His life before Tanner Creek involved
knowing how to make a hard sell. Hell, his life before this small
town had taught him a number of things. So he'd showed up with a
plan like he still lived in a big city. He shrugged, but since
humor could soften the hardest of sales, he added, “Good looks only
take you so far.”

She tilted her head back, and for the first
time since he’d known her, she looked as cunning as any politician.
“Lucky for you, my lunch hour is open. We can meet at Steeped and
Brewed for coffee. The sandwiches will be fresh, and they have a
pastrami with rye that I've been craving.”

“
On me,” he offered. “And
since it's your lunch, I'll get the hard sell out of the way within
thirty minutes.”

“
Deal, but you could have
just called me,” she pointed out.

He liked that she was smart. “I could have,
but I've found it's harder to say 'no' when someone is standing
right in front of you.”

She clasped her hands on top of the mahogany
desk. “If you're going to benefit from this, I think you should
take another moment to consider that calendar.”

He sighed. She was smart and a loyal friend.
Dane could understand that. If the library needed new shelves, he'd
have plugged his friend's, Tate, construction business. “To help
Brooke.”

“
To help Tanner Creek,” she
corrected him without blinking. “Revenue is down across the board.
More than one money stream could give us breathing room. So…make,
model, year?”

He'd underestimated her. She came across
nice, carefree, but there was a shark underneath that warm smile.
Fuck. A politician.

He had to respect the hell out of her for
it. “Broach the idea to Brooke, and maybe I'll tell you.”

She considered him for a moment. “But did
you go with Juan Jr. to fix your car?”

“
I just needed him to look
at it and tell me if it was worth fixing.”

She tapped her fingers on the desk. The
sound echoed in the large, mostly empty building. “You push her
buttons for some reason.”

Since Brooke pushed every one of his, he
considered them even. “Spoken like a true friend.”

She laughed. “Maybe, but it's the truth.
I'll see you at lunch.”

He left it at that, said his goodbyes, and
got ready for the meeting.

When lunchtime rolled around, he saved them
a seat in the corner of the coffee shop. The simple setup gave them
an opportunity for privacy as well as an outlet to be social.

Everyone in Tanner Creek visited Steeped and
Brewed for their caffeine needs. The booths were evenly spread
apart, sedately colored in cool beige tones and made comfortable
with dark red cushions.

As he waited, Miss Christopher—a retired
schoolteacher—talked his ear off and showed him photos of her
grandchild. Jessica, the barista, took pity on him and gave him
free coffee. Little gestures like those were why he loved the small
town.

Growing up he'd lived in a big city with a
fast pace he never had trouble keeping up with, but he'd lived at
that pace for all of his life and had needed a change. He had his
friends, Reid and Tate, and his bookstore to keep his brain from
suffering due to atrophy. Much to his surprise, since the move here
had been a whim, it was enough.

He reshuffled the papers he'd printed out.
They were reports from other cities that had teamed up with their
local independent bookstores. There was a long list of incidents of
mutual back-scratching. He fiddled some more with the order of his
paperwork because nerves were getting the best of him. Naomi wasn't
late; he was early and eager. He needed this.