She Who Dares (7 page)

‘Sebastian?’

He turned in his seat. ‘What’s up?’

‘I, er …’ Her face was no longer pale. If anything, she looked a little flushed. The curve of her cheeks was bright pink, her gaze glued to the floor. ‘Oh, god.’

He was in his feet in an instant. ‘What’s wrong? Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself again?’

She shook her head violently. ‘No, nothing like that. I just…this is so awkward.’

‘More awkward than when you kissed me?’

‘I can’t undress myself.’

If there was a more humiliating scenario than this, Nic couldn’t think what it was. She’d got as far as unzipping her overalls before she’d realised that pulling them off her shoulders and down over her injured hand was going to be impossible without help. She’d briefly considered keeping them on, but the fabric was thick and sweaty and dirty.

No way would she be able to sleep in it. Exhaustion wrapped around her, hot and stifling, and she felt like she’d gone ten rounds with a heavyweight boxer, spots of light dancing in front of her eyes as the pills threw themselves into the mix.

Her knees dissolved.

Sebastian caught her just in time. ‘You’re crashing,’ he said. ‘We need to get you into bed.’ He half carried, half walked her back into her bedroom. ‘Your adrenaline levels have dropped. You’re going to feel pretty damn awful for the next few hours.’

‘Great,’ Nic mumbled. ‘So not only is everything a complete sodding disaster, I’m going to feel crap too. Fantastic. Absolutely fantastic.’

‘Stop complaining. Things could be worse.’

‘How could they possibly be worse?’

Sebastian sat her down on the bed. He slid one big, warm hand inside the overalls and pulled out her left arm. Then he repeated the move with her other arm. Nic winced as the sleeve pulled over her battered hand. ‘We could’ve had sex,’ he said, as if that was a perfectly reasonable and perfectly normal thing to say. ‘Then things would really be awkward.’

Nic turned her head so she wouldn’t have to look at him. Yes we could, she thought. But you had sex with my sister instead.

Throat tight, she turned her head to the side, though the effort nearly killed her, given that it felt like a bowling ball. The shiny full length mirror that she’d bought as part of
her preparation for the Misses and Motors contest, hauled up into the flat, leaned against the bedroom wall and then refused to look in reflected the scene straight back at her. The overalls were scrunched around her hips, the dark grey fabric in stark contrast to the plain white cotton of her bed covers and her even whiter skin. Her hair looked like it belonged to someone else, glossy and rich, even pulled back in a scruffy stub of a ponytail.

She looked a mess.

And yet with Sebastian knelt between her thighs, so dark and masculine, she looked something more. She looked…naughty. He slid one hand down under her bottom and lifted her slightly, forcing her to plant her uninjured hand on his shoulder to keep herself steady as his other hand went to the edge of her overalls.

Her fuzzy brain guessed his intention just in time. ‘No!’ The word came out hard, a shout that shocked her. ‘No,’ she said again, trying to control her volume level. ‘It’s fine. I can do it now.’ She wasn’t wearing anything under the overalls but her cotton vest and heart print knickers, and she absolutely couldn’t let Sebastian see her left hip, and the long, ugly lines that ran across it, most white, three still purple, all precisely spaced.

His knuckles grazed her waist, but his hand stopped. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes.’ Nic shoved at his chest, but it was like shoving a boulder. A warm, gorgeous smelling boulder. She pushed him harder. Still nothing. One of her vest straps fell down her arm, exposing the top of her breast, and she grabbed at it with clumsy fingers.

‘Jeez,’ she heard Sebastian whisper. One hand slipped back to her bottom, and his other one joined it. She thought she heard him inhale, but that had to be her imagination.

‘What?’

He shook his head slightly, but didn’t lift his gaze. In the mirror, she saw the movement of his throat as he swallowed. Her gaze dropped lower, as she tried to work out what exactly he was looking at.

Then she realised. A fast glance down told her exactly what had caught his attention. The vest she’d pulled on that morning was old, thin, and had shrunk in the wash. It had been a soft baby pink at some point, but now it was more sludgy grey. It clung to her breasts like paint to the bonnet of a sports car.

And she hadn’t bothered with a bra.

Her nipples were outlined in perfect detail. Size, shape, the works. Nothing left to the imagination. Nothing at all.

‘I’m going to leave now,’ Sebastian said, his voice cool.

‘Okay,’ Nic replied, a little too loudly. ‘ Right.’

He scrambled to his feet, shoved his hands back through his hair. ‘I’ll, ah, see you tomorrow.’

And then he was gone, closing the bedroom door quietly behind him. A few seconds later, she heard her front door slam. Nic gripped the edge of the bed, heeled off her boots, then bounced and kicked her legs until her overalls were flung across the room. They fell in a messy heap in front of the stupid mirror.

He’d taken one look and scarpered, and she’d only been half undressed. He hadn’t even needed to see her scars. She’d laugh if it wasn’t so bloody unfunny. But what did she expect? She wasn’t Ella, all soft curves and satin lingerie. She was Nic, all over-washed cotton undies and muscle. Most of the time, the athletic build she’d gained doing such a physical job made her feel strong, fit, powerful. But the second she took off her clothes, she hated it. All she could see was what was missing, what was flawed, what was wrong, what
she’d done to herself. Her whole body wracked with pain, Nic crawled under the sheets, buried her face in the pillow, and cried herself to sleep.

Sebastian took the stairs two at a time, his heart pounding. God, he seriously did need therapy. He’d just had the loveliest breasts he’d ever seen inches from his mouth, and he’d had just one thought in his head.

Stopping himself had been too bloody hard, given that she was exhausted, in shock, crashing. There was something about Nic, something challenging and interesting that stirred him up. Where Ella was predictable, straightforward, uncomplicated, Nic was the exact opposite. He’d only needed five minutes in her company to figure that out.

Sebastian was old enough and wise enough to recognise that she had something unique. He was also old enough and experienced enough to know when a woman was hot for him. He hadn’t thought he was old enough or sensible enough to not make a move, but apparently he didn’t know himself as well as he thought.

Now he had to work out what the hell he was going to do about it. Striding round to the front of the garage, Sebastian eyed his bike. The moon was high and bright, casting long shadows across the forecourt, making the machine look like something from a
Ghost Rider
comic book. But Sebastian didn’t feel like the
Spirit of Vengeance
. He felt more like a horny twenty-eight-year-old man who’d just developed some uncomfortable morals. Through the glass of the showroom he could see the gleam of the Corvette. Rubbing a hand over his chest, he tried to ease the ache in his insides.

Denying himself for a second time was not on the cards tonight.

The following morning, Nic sat down in front of her computer with a bowl of cereal on her lap and ordered herself four sensible white bras, the type with lightly padded cups that would stop her nipples from making a spectacle of themselves. She munched her way through her breakfast as she typed in her card details one-fingered and told herself that she’d been intending to do it for ages. It had nothing to do with Sebastian or what had happened the night before, because she wasn’t in the slightest bit bothered about that.

Thanks to her crying jag and the pills the A and E doc had given her, she’d slept deeply and dreamlessly, and the rest had given her some semblance of strength. She might still feel like crying but feeling wasn’t doing, and that was good enough for today. Breakfast done and money spent, she cut the bandage off her hand, pulled on her usual uniform of shorts and tee and headed down to the garage. All she had to do was act like yesterday never happened. Erase it from the history book in her head. How hard could it be?

Somewhere between her flat and the workshop, she admitted defeat. Whatever small amount of confidence she’d persuaded herself she still had vanished. Sebastian had taken one look at her body and scarpered. She hadn’t even needed to get naked to scare him off. Chances of her forgetting that were nil.

There was no point entering Misses and Motors. Just for once, Sinclair’s was going to have to give it a miss. Why risk the humiliation? She couldn’t possibly win. It was time to accept it, once and for all. She was plain and ordinary and about as attractive as a girl mechanic could be, which was not very, and in some ways Sebastian had done her a favour.

At least her humiliation hadn’t been public.

Feeling faintly sick, she went into her office, put a new filter in the coffee machine and set it going, then sat herself behind her desk and pulled forward the jobs book. A yellow post-it note had been stuck to today’s page.

Nic knew the instant she set eyes on it that the dark scribble belonged to Sebastian. An unwelcome frisson of heat flickered through her, extinguished almost immediately by the heavy pull of worry in her stomach. Sebastian leaving her notes? This couldn’t be good.

She stared at it for a moment, trapped in a place where not knowing was almost a place of safety. If it said he was leaving and never coming back, that would be absolutely perfect, but the thought that it might actually say that terrified her. If, on the other hand, it said he would be here at nine sharp and was bringing bacon sandwiches, she’d probably be sick.

It was a lose-lose situation.

It took Nic two coffees to pluck up the courage to look at the note.
Took the Corvette. Sebastian.
And that was it. Four little words. Took it where, exactly? Five hundred miles away, never to return? Or taken it down the road for a spin, be back in five? Nic could feel her anxiety starting to bubble up.

She didn’t have a number she could call, because although she’d begrudgingly given him a set of keys for the garage, they hadn’t got as far as exchanging those sorts of details. Ring Ella and ask for it? That daft idea was rapidly dismissed. Banging her empty mug down on the desk, Nic rushed into the workshop and tried to find her calm. She straightened spanners, tested the tyre spinner, counted spark plugs. Then she walked quietly over to the far corner and pulled off the sheet that hid her pride and joy.

‘Hello, baby,’ she whispered. The battered 1972 Ferrari Dino silently greeted her with a flash of faded red, but her heart raced as much as if it were factory perfect. Nic didn’t see the imperfections. All she saw were the stunning lines of the bodywork, the gorgeous engine hidden beneath, and the potential. It was a work of art. She couldn’t wait to restore it to its former glory, take it out, and let it make all the other cars in the world jealous.

Leaning forward, she pressed her cheek to the bonnet, closed her eyes, and let herself breathe. She’d made herself a promise the day she bought this car, a promise that so far remained unbroken. She lifted her hands to stroke the bonnet. Everything would be okay, as long as she had this.

The sharp crack of pain that shot from her hand to her gut reminded her that no, everything was not okay. She couldn’t work. And she most definitely couldn’t enter the Misses and Motors contest. She’d never be pretty enough.

And at some point, whether she wanted to or not, she was going to break that promise.

‘No!’ She shouted, jerking herself upright and thumping the bonnet. The word echoed through the open space of the workshop, and Nic realised a moment too late that she wasn’t alone.

‘Morning.’ His voice was deep, slightly husky, and disturbingly cheerful. ‘Nice car,’ he continued, and the way he said the word ‘nice’ sent a shiver down her spine. ‘Why are you shouting at it?’

Nic straightened up. It took every ounce of strength she had to turn around. ‘It didn’t behave,’ she said coolly, refusing to feel ashamed. Obviously Sebastian hadn’t cried himself to sleep, and wasn’t watching his plans going down the drain. He’d probably eaten two bacon sandwiches for breakfast as well. ‘Where is my Corvette?’

‘
Our
Corvette is parked out on the forecourt where it’s being romanced by a Chelsea striker. But I’m sure he’d be more interested in this.’

‘It’s not for sale!’

‘Sure it is,’ he replied. ‘I agree it needs some work, but that doesn’t mean we can’t find a buyer.’

With that, he turned on his heel and walked off, leaving Nic gobsmacked and shaking. Why had Ella landed her with such a jerk? She opened the driver’s door, hand trembling, and slipped in to the seat. Her feet automatically found the pedals, the narrow steering wheel, and she clung on like a child to a bag of sweets. This was her car. Hers. Male voices, chatting, laughing and generally sounding far too pleased with themselves drifted closer. She gripped the steering wheel of the Dino tighter.

‘1972 Ferrari 308 GT4 Dino,’ she heard Sebastian say. ‘Girl not included.’

‘I prefer blondes anyway,’ said the other man in a strong London accent. ‘You know what they say.’

‘Something about gentlemen,’ Sebastian said. ‘I can never remember it exactly.’

Nic opened the door a couple of inches. ‘It’s not for sale.’

The stranger walked over, bending down to give her a look that she didn’t much like. ‘Everything has a price.’ He exuded confidence, so much so that Nic was surprised he hadn’t tripped over it on the way in. ‘I’ll give you thirty k.’

It was a ridiculously good offer given the state the car was in, but she fixed on a blank expression. It wasn’t difficult as long as she kept her attention fixed firmly on the man and well away from Sebastian. She pulled the door shut and wound down the window. ‘Like I said, it’s not for sale.’

‘Why not?’ The question came from Sebastian this time, and his words pulled her gaze his way. He was standing to the left of the man, hands tucked in the pockets of jeans which were gone at the knee and worn soft everywhere else. He’d sprayed on a black t-shirt and his Converse were emerald green. He looked…delicious.