Don't... (7 page)

Don’t...

How the fuck had he gotten my mobile number?

...
forget him.

I glanced at my watch, then scanned the bustle of the car park. Threadneedle Street was one of London’s main financial sectors, and with it being home to the Bank of England, there were a thousand and one suits out with briefcases today. It didn’t help on a good day, and as this evening was fast sliding into almost my worst (Jack being the only saving grace), all the hustle and ball-busting bustle just pushed me that few feet deeper into despair. Sam had shown a real kamikaze (and terrifying) flair with his willingness to get me to work. I’d stumbled away from his little Corsa dazed, disorientated—more thanking hell we’d arrived safely—and praying he’d bring my Jag later on so I didn’t have to live through his hit-and-chuckle approach to driving. Now I’d just be grateful he’d turn up. Half past six had been the pick-up time, now it was closer to seven, and the bus-run going on over the road was looking more and more likely.

Damn. I’d been knee-high to a nipper the last time I caught a bus and I hid a groan; a few hours without my car and I was lost. The case at my feet mumbled protest as I laid my jacket over it. Heat off the tarmac burned through my shoes, and with little shade and breeze on offer, I was ready for tearing off clothes and going commando into the first fountain I came across. London always had this grimy feel to it; didn’t matter how high-up the ladder you went, you still ended up with dirty fingerprints at the end of the day. Didn’t help that for the past few minutes some jerk in a black Mercedes had blasted his horn twice, adding to my irritability. Feeling heat sting my eyes, I wiped at them with fingertips and finally added a soft curse. Always left waiting for someone to show up. Just bloody typical.

“Rough day?”

I glanced up and all the day’s stresses were sighed away as I focused on that black Mercedes. Jack had pushed out and was making his way around to the passenger side. “Need a ride?” he said, even adding a wink. My head, heart—keys to my bedroom—were already over there and getting in the car with him; I just couldn’t force the rest of my body to join in the party. I wasn’t the worst-looking guy melting in the heat today, I knew that, hopefully in a non-arrogant way. Yet Jack, as far as ease on the eye went, he, well... I was walking, albeit a little numbly, albeit willingly, into his shadow.

“You and yours, huh?” I said, maybe just a little embarrassed with how he held the door open for me.

“Hmmm,” said Jack, and I didn’t understand his smile until he shifted his head back toward the curb. My case and jacket stood looking a little dejected on the path. “Damn,” I mumbled and quickly sprinted back over and grabbed them. “Me and mine,” I offered with a shrug, a smile.

Jack just shook his head, and I climbed into his Mercedes and waited for him to shut my door before burying my head in my hand.

I was a constant screw-up around him. Hell, he’d been nowhere near me during late lunch, yet just the thought of him had set my stomach twisting in knots of pleasure, and I’d dropped my baguette and watched as Neil from the mail department ran it over with his post trolley. Jack. Yeah, he seemed to play devil with you even when he wasn’t there.

He got in, and I heard him curse as, at the same time, I decided to reach over and put my case and jacket on the back seat.

“Sorry.” We did a little dance; Jack ducking the assault, me hoping that someone would come and cull the blundering oaf sitting next to him.

“Don’t, ouch, shi—
worry
about it.” He rubbed at his shoulder. I’d caught him and I couldn’t stop my chuckle. This surely couldn’t get any worse.

“What, hmm... what happened to Sam?” I managed eventually.

Jack mumbled something, then a little louder. “What doesn’t happen to Sam?” He flicked the engine over and jammed into reverse. As he shifted slightly to check over his shoulder, Jack glanced at me. “Sorry about being late. Getting into the centre of London is a bitc... pain.”

That was twice now he’d stopped himself from swearing. Seemed Jack was a gruff soul, but I’d kind of got that from how he’d first looked at me. Although considering he’d backed away so coolly this afternoon, it surprised me that he’d made the effort to come and pick me up.

“Sam had to leave early, I was volunteered. Just in case you were wondering.”

I smiled at him. “Yeah, because you’re not the type to turn around and say no, right?”

Christ, he blushed. Actually
blushed,
and hell if it didn’t just kick everything else he had to offer up a notch.
Caught you out, Jacky boy
.
I don’t think you put up too much of a fight there.

Jack pulled out of the car park, onto the main road, and I had to look away and focus on something else. “Yeah, the capitol’s a nightmare, but you get used to it.”

“How long have you worked here?”

Questions were good. Hopefully he wasn’t asking just to be polite, but I couldn’t really tell. “Since I could crunch numbers,” I said, feeling the kick of the air-conditioner. I sighed the heat of the day away. “I was lucky to fall into the right crowd and land a job a few office blocks from the Royal Exchange.”

“It doesn’t bother you,” said Jack, “working here, with all these people and the buildings?”

I watched the rat-race pass by outside and shrugged. “Could say the same with you and cars. Doesn’t it bother you with all that grease?”

We shared a glance, a
never really had to think about it
moment, well, that’s what it was on my part, and again I bit back a smile seeing a smear of grease on Jack’s nose. Sexy, but mostly just real damn cute. It added to the blackness of his hair, soft despite the heat, and how strands fell over such clear and startling grey eyes that gave life the V, then called it out for a fight if it dared answer back. The black grease gave him that touch of war paint to his face, and hell if it didn’t seem to match his soul. He didn’t look much older than me, certainly fitter, blue garage coveralls only accentuating everything else my mind had already stripped bare and screwed the hell out of. Yeah, I wasn’t a disappointment at all on the eye, but Jack, for a humble garage owner and mechanic, he was damn breathtaking. Which is why, taking all of that into account, my body heated to molten levels knowing every ounce of fire Jack offered was tamed firmly behind a cock cage.

I half-closed my eyes and tried to shut out images that had haunted me all day, and eased back into my seat with a sigh. “Sam seems a nice kid. Knows his cars too.”

“It’s why I pay him,” said Jack, and I looked at him.

“He said you’re a tough boss to work for.” I kind of got that feeling. Then added in a whisper, “But seems to think you have this secret, soft, squidgy side.”

Grey eyes fixed on me for a brief moment. “Soft? Squidgy?” I think if Sam were here, Sam would end up as a soft, squidgy mass of blood and bone on the floor. “Then he’s speaking out of term to clients,” added Jack.

“Not his fault,” I said, looking out my window. “I asked.”

“Then you shouldn’t really encourage him. Sam...” Jack added this huff sound. “Sam needs to learn a few things about confidentiality.” Then. “Talking about your boss moving to the top of his shit list.”

He hadn’t meant that last one to slip, and it showed as he tensed and quickly apologised. I told him not to worry about it, giving a soft laugh.

“What else did he say,” said Jack, “just out of I’m-gonna-screw-his-nuts-to-the-wall curiosity?”

I controlled my chuckle. “He likes you, Jack. Even said he’d trust you with his dad’s car, which I think was code for something, just can’t figure out what.” The traffic started to ease a little and Jack’s tension seemed to ease with it. For a mechanic, he seemed strangely uncomfortable around hordes of cars and people.

“His father died a year ago,” said Jack. “Left behind this old Rolls Royce Phantom. When Sam says ‘trusts,’ he means ‘get the best deal selling it on.’”

“Uh-huh. That a personal detail there about one of your employees, is it?” I caught Jack’s glance at me and deliberately ignored it. “’Cause it’s not like it’s the whole ‘pot meet kettle, kettle—pot’ thing you have going on.”

“You’re a ballsy bastard, aren’t you?”

No, not usually. Just loved how Jack kept having a go over something he was guilty of. “He doesn’t want to keep hold of it?” I said, trying to remain at least a little “ballsy” in Jack’s eyes. “Something like that will only go up in value.”

“He doesn’t want the reminder.”

“Ah.” I fell quiet for a minute. “Rough upbringing and that family bullshit, I take it.”

“Bullshit?” Jack stole a look. I caught it but wouldn’t look at him. “You think family is bullshit?” he said quietly.

A shrug, not quite little-boy-lost, more little-boy-grown-up-and-long-past-giving-a-shit. “One-parent families were the norm where I grew up,” I mumbled, not really wanting to go there. “Father/son always equalled bullshit.”

“How old were you when your father died?”

That caught me by surprise and I glanced at Jack. “Fourteen. How did you know?”

His lips were a little thin. “One-parent family, struggled financially, all tied up with being a financial consultant now, it’s not that hard to work out.” He looked uncomfortable. Had he never lost anyone? Maybe found it hard to empathise? “Tough break,” he added quietly.

“Not really.” I really wasn’t that bothered. “He’d spent the best part of five years in prison before he died there.”

Things went pretty quiet and I shifted uncomfortably. Too much too soon?

“GBH and handling stolen goods,” I added quietly. “Got what he deserved, if you ask me.”

Jack coughed, even more uncomfortable now? Crap. Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned that?

“There—there was water in the distributer, which didn’t take long to clear up, but you also had a problem with your starter motor.”

At least he was still talking to me, even though it was a painfully obvious shift in conversation, and I cocked him a smile that said “rip off” before saying, “The starter motor was replaced, you going Jameson’s on my ass?”

Again Jack seemed to blush, just slightly, and he took a few seconds to answer. “This was to do with the female clips slipping off the starter. Electrical problems are pretty common on older models. Whoever rebuilt the engine wouldn’t have seen this as a problem unless the clip was off before he started stripping the engine. Besides, it’s most likely a recent problem. Have you had problems starting him before?”

“A few days ago.” I shrugged. “She flat-lined the first turn but seemed fine after that.”

He nodded. “Recent, then.”

“Why couldn’t my breakdown service fix it roadside?” Cars really weren’t my thing, although if they came with Jack....

“The clip he could have; it’s a five-minute job if you’re just patching. But the water in the distributer—” Jack tapped a tune on the steering wheel. “Wiping it out with a rag wouldn’t have been good enough, you needed....” He let that trail off in a way that just begged a—

“What?” I said, watching him. He offered nothing back. “Jack?”

“A hairdryer.”

I snorted laughter, hoping it sounded a lot sexier than it felt. “A hairdryer?” My elbow was back on the window now, the back of my hand trying to hide my laughter and failing miserably. “That a mechanic’s top wish-list item?”

Jack was laughing, and it sounded really good. “Hey, whatever gets the job done.”

“It yours?”

“What?”

“The hairdryer.”

“Get fucked.” He seemed a lot more relaxed now. “Do I look like I ponce about in front of a mirror drying my hair?”

I shouldn’t have wondered just how many times his mirror had seen Jack naked at that point. “Nowt wrong with taking care of yourself.”

“Oh, hell.” Jack controlled his laughter, practically sobered up on the spot. “You don’t?”

“Me?” I nodded. “Straighteners and everything. Hairspray helps tame some of the wildness, but, y’know—”

He caught on quickly. “Taking the piss, huh?”

“Some people just ask for it,” I said, calming myself down and resting back against the window. “So you’re almost the stereotypical mechanic, huh?”

Jack shrugged. “Well, if you mean I fix cars and get dirty, then, yeah, kind of comes with the job description.”

“That just happens to suit you.”

“What,” said Jack lightly, “you mean I don’t look the flower arranging type? I take offence to that, so would my tutor. He said the red roses I picked really accentuated my eyes, seeing as I’d been on the piss the night before and was, well, doing the whole red-eyed, hung-over, stereotypical alcoholic.”

I huffed. “Taking the piss, huh?”

“Me?” He flashed a smile, and I rewarded it with an eye-roll. “I teach,” he added.

I did this whole
Seriously?
shit with how many times I looked between Jack and the road. “Mechanics?”

“Martial arts.”

“Seriously?” I widened my eyes. No wonder he had such a fit bloody body. “With kids and everything?”

“Helps,” he said and shook his head. “Ya know, that I’ve got people to teach when I’m actually teaching.”

“But.” I left that for a second. “Kids?” With his gruffness?

“Mostly adults, about six under the age of eighteen, youngest being seven.”

“Yeah—but kids?”

“Can’t get over that last bit, huh?” said Jack with a smile. “They’re not part of my diet. I can interact with them.”

“Yeah—but kids.”

“Okay, enough with the kids shit now.”

I chuckled, and something lowered Jack’s eyes, sent that startling grey a few darker shades of lust. I wish I knew what it was. “You just don’t seem the sort to have the patience,” I said over to him.

“Because I’m a stereotypical grouch of a mechanic that only loves cars?”

“Because you first looked at me like you couldn’t decide when to rip my head off: before, during, or after you’d fucked me senseless.”

Jack choked a little. “Sorry?”

“Sexy as hell,” I said, giving him the time to recover. “I just can’t see you chilling with kids long enough without wanting to put them in the deep freeze to shut them up.”