Page 500 of Summer Heat
After a time, Lance knew he had to get back to his mother’s house. There were a hundred things left to do, and she’d want it all to be just right.
He took his time walking back to his car, trying to breathe and feel okay, instead of the weird shakiness that seemed to have overtaken him. Maybe he was just hungry.
Driving back into town on the frontage road, he passed a stranded car, hood up. It was an old Buick, the paint faded to a dead-leaf color. Lance looked at the clock on his dashboard, and realized he was even later than he thought. His mother would have expected him almost an hour ago. He picked up his phone to call the sheriff, and glanced in the rearview mirror.
It was Tamara Flynn, cursing a blue streak if her body language was any indication. He put the phone down and pulled over, backing up to within a few feet of her.
She was so touchable, Lance thought, getting out of his car. Her thick dark hair lay on her shoulders, glossy in the early-morning sunlight. He let his gaze wander over her body, admiring the fit of jeans so old, he guessed she might have worn them in high school. It wasn’t a fashionable sort of worn, but a patched and crossed-fingers type. And the effect of soft denim against her thighs and round, pretty bottom was unbelievably erotic.
Yesterday, he’d noticed her vivid green eyes and wariness, her work-worn hands. Today, he admired the neat, perfectly formed shape of her breasts, her sleek waist and long legs, and he wanted to touch her. All over. Very slowly.
Judging by the look on her face as he approached, a little of the same thing was in her mind. Her gaze washed from his head to his toes, then back up again more slowly. The faintest hint of shock showed in her face.
She hid it fast enough. That pretty soft mouth went tight. “You again,” she said with exasperation. “Are you following me around?”
Lance chuckled. “Not at all, sweetheart. Maybe I’m just your guardian angel.”
“Some angel,” she said with a frown. “I look like a tramp with this black eye.”
A thread of regret wound through him. A purple-and-black-and-green bruise decorated her eye and the cheek below. He made a sympathetic face. “That’s pretty nasty.” Unable to resist, he added, “You should have used that steak. It would have helped.”
“Right.” She sighed in barely suppressed frustration. “Is there any chance you can give me a lift to the community college?” She looked at her watch. “I have a test in exactly—” she looked at her watch, a sensible thing on a thin black strap “—twenty minutes. I don’t have time to figure out what’s wrong with this stupid car right now.”
“Careful,” he said, bending toward the engine. “You don’t want her to hear you.”
“Trust me, that’s mild in comparison to some of the things I’ve said.”
“Well, no wonder, then. She’s probably trying to teach you a lesson.”
“She?”
“All engines are she,” he said with a grin.
“Okay. She. And she heard me saying bad things about her, so she’s misbehaving. You still didn’t answer me. Can you give me a ride to school?”
“Hang on.” He noticed with approval that there was no oil leaking anywhere inside the engine, and someone had taught her to keep things clean inside. Rare for a woman. “What did she do?”
“There was a strange noise, like a big knock, and I lost all power.”
“Uh-oh.” Lance hesitated for only a second before sticking his hand into the bowels of the car.
“Oh, don’t mess up your suit!” she protested.
Lance lifted his head and winked. “Real men don’t worry about suits.” The truth was, he was pretty sure what the problem was, and the engine was so clean, it wasn’t a problem. He wiggled the spark plug wires blindly, and found what he was looking for. One hung in empty space. “Okay. It’s nothing serious. Just a thrown spark plug.” He closed the hood. “Hop in my car, and I’ll run you to school.”
“Thank you.” Picking a worn backpack up off the ground, she flung it over her shoulder, and headed up the road at a good pace. Her hair shifted smoothly, glimmering and shining.
He hurried to catch up. In the car, he said, “Reach in the glove box and get me that red rag, will you?”
She did, taking the greasy cloth out with two fingers. The smell of lemon-scented industrial cleaner filled the car.
He wiped his hands. “I’ll send somebody out here to fix that for you. Let me have your keys.”
“That isn’t necessary.” She folded her hands primly in her lap and looked straight ahead. “I’ll manage.”
“You’re as prickly as a porcupine, you know? What made you so mean?”
That surprised her. Her head snapped around, and the green eyes flashed. “I’m not mean.”
