Page 26 of Fierce-Baker

Her eyes moved to his finger that was pointing right at it.

Why hadn’t she noticed how big his hands were before?

Or his dark brown hair that looked soft enough to touch.

If she was crazy enough to reach out and do it.

She had to be crazy to even be thinking of that!

“That explains it.”

“You can bring Micah in the house if you want,” he said. “I won’t be long.”

“He’s with my parents for the night.”

“Oh.” He turned his head to look at her quickly, then dropped it back down to finish changing her tire. “I’ll get this done for you so you can get on with your plans.”

He probably thought she had a date.

As if.

The first person she was really interested in enough was kneeling on the concrete, changing her tire and swearing over the scrape he just got on his knuckle.

“No plans and I’ll get something to clean your hand up. I’ll be right back, don’t leave.”

He grunted one more time, then finally got the last lug nut off as she dashed into the house, wet a paper towel and then grabbed the first aid kit from her bathroom.

Her worn and abused tire was next to Baker’s leg. Long legs she shouldn’t be noticing in his shorts either.

More muscle than she thought, the brown hair not excessive and just enough to make her think it was manly.

Just like her eyes shouldn’t, no absolutely, didn’t need to be on his arms while he worked.

Oh boy. Her body just cranked a dial she’d thought was stuck.

Men like Baker, tough, rugged ones, they never were the type she was attracted to.

Not the ones she ever fell for either.

Look at how well all those other men turned out in her life.

Her little bitty donut was slapped onto her car, the lug nuts being swirled back on much quicker than they came off, then the tire that got her home in one piece was tossed in the trunk where it lay for its burial.

“All set,” he said, dropping the jack down and putting that with the iron next to the tire and closing them into the dark.

She pushed the wet paper towel out to him. “Let’s take care of your hand.”

Blood was coming out more than she thought and she hoped he hadn’t cut something more serious.

“Thanks.” He grabbed it and wiped both hands clean, then she reached for the injured one and pulled him to her front porch, still holding his hand, feeling his rough skin, some calluses underneath, and hoping he couldn’t read her mind.

You know, those thoughts where she wondered what it’d feel like to have a guy’s hands on her body.

Not a guy’s. But aman’s!

Rough, strong, capable.

“It won’t stop bleeding. Come in and I’ll get another paper towel. No use putting anything on it until it does.”