Nothing But Trouble (2 page)

The man was so damn distracting that she had
to think about her answer. Hadn't she and her mom talked about
this? What was it they wanted again?

She adjusted her sunglasses higher up her
nose. "It needs a complete overhaul. You'd probably have to rebuild
the entire thing. But we want to put in an automatic
transmission."

"This has a three-hundred and twenty-five
horse power manual transmission and you want to take that out?" he
asked as though she were insane for even thinking it. "That's
sacrilegious."

Rebecca didn't know enough about engines to
comment either way. That had been her mother's decision, probably
because of her father's arthritis. R.J. walked to the front of the
car and popped the hood. He leaned over the engine and rested his
hands on the edge of the hood. The movement lifted the hem of his
stained shirt, and gave Rebecca a peak of the white elastic of his
boxer-briefs. R.J. was a Fruit of the Loom kind of guy, standard
white like the men who advertised the underwear on the packaging of
the product. All lean muscle and powerful lines. Not an ounce of
fat on him. And she knew for a fact the man could put away food
like nobody she'd ever seen. How in the hell he managed to burn off
that many calories was a mystery to her.

His brows pinched together as he reached an
arm down and tinkered with the stuff under the hood. Rebecca had no
clue what was under there. She assumed whatever it was made the car
go ― or stall as sometimes was the case. He turned some knobs and
touched a few other things before slamming the hood shut. The loud
thump matched the thumping of her heart.

"I'm probably going to have to strip it down
to the metal frame and replace everything. The engine is in okay
condition but it won't last much longer. And the timing belt is
about to go." He turned to face her. "You're positive you want to
put in an automatic transmission?"

"Yes." The heat from his green gaze had her
breasts tingling inside her hot pink bra. When his attention
wandered down to her mouth, which was still unpainted, her already
unsteady heartbeat turned erratic.

"Let's head into my office and talk," he said
in a gruff voice.

That sounded so much more sensual than it
should have been. Like, he'd meant to say, "Let's go into my office
so I can make you scream." Which, at this point, Rebecca wasn't
sure she would refuse, but knew she should if she wanted to keep
her sanity intact.

She followed him into the shop, past other
employees who were working on cars, some of which were nothing more
than bare metal frames. A stereo in the background blasted AC/DC
over the sound of metal clanking against metal. One of the
technicians lifted his chin in greeting to R.J., and a woman with
long mahogany hair was in the reception area with a telephone
pressed to her ear. She was an Amazon of a woman who probably
towered over Rebecca's average five-six frame by at least four
inches. Her fair skin and pale blue eyes were a striking
combination with her dark hair. Rebecca lifted the corners of her
mouth in a friendly smile, then the smile faded when she got a load
of the way the woman looked at R.J. That she looked at R.J. wasn't
what made Rebecca uncomfortable; lots of women looked at R.J., and
R.J. usually looked back. It was the pure hunger and territorial
gaze coming from her that had Rebecca looking away from her. R.J.
didn't seem to notice. He kept right on walking until they came to
a hallway and a bank of offices.

He stopped at the first one and opened the
door for her, gesturing for her to enter before him. She brushed
past him and tried not to breathe, so his clean, bar-soap scent
wouldn't make her eyes roll back into her head. And if that didn't
do it, then the pure heat coming off of him would.

The office was small and seemed even smaller
when he closed the door and stepped around her. His shoulder
brushed hers, and probably not by accident either. He'd always used
every opportunity to knock her world off its axis, so why would now
be any different?

The man had made a career out of torturing
her.

He stopped directly in front of her, with
about enough room to slip a hand between them. Maybe she ought to
try it so she could feel those steely muscles beneath his dirty
shirt. No, because then she'd want to rip the thing off like some
crazed animal. This was a very bad idea, coming inside. They should
have stayed outside, because outside had an unlimited amount of air
that R.J. couldn't consume.

He lifted his hands, and she braced herself
for him to touch her, to feel those long, blunt fingertips
smoothing over her skin. And she would welcome it, because R.J.
Devlin had the ability to send her to another planet. But he didn't
touch her. Exactly. His fingers slipped her sunglasses down her
nose until they were all the way off. Then he nestled them on top
of her head.

"There we go," he said. "Did you really think
I was going to let you keep hiding behind those?"

Was she supposed to answer him? Like, with an
intelligent answer? Because she couldn't think about anything other
how easily she'd almost succumbed to him. Again.

"The sun was bright," she said lamely but
with as much conviction as her wired brain could manage.

"The sun inside the office?" he countered as
he settled in his desk chair.

"Shut up." The only reason she sank into the
other chair, was because her legs were about to give beneath her
anyway.

One corner of his mouth quirked in a
half-smile. "There she is. I thought maybe you were having an off
day."

She pulled in a deep breath and tried to
realign her focus on why she came. What was it again? It certainly
wasn't to be near R.J. The man was bad for her mental health.

Oh, yeah. Her father's car.

"So, about how long do you think this will
take?"

He paused before answering. "I could go all
day."

Just take a deep breath so you don't reach
across his desk and strangle him. Or kiss him. Because the last
time that happened, things ended so well.

"The car, R.J. Can we focus on that
please?"

He swiveled back and forth in his chair, and
the whole time his eyes remained fixed on hers as though he were
trying to figure her out. She didn't want him figuring her out,
thank you very much.

"When do you need it by?" he finally
asked.

"My dad's not retiring until June."

"I think I can manage that." He faced forward
in his chair and grabbed some papers, which he jotted notes on.
"And other than the transmission, is there anything specific you
want done with it?" he asked without looking up.

"Other than the paint color, no," she
answered while roaming her eyes over his blonde locks. They were
soft, she knew that. And only because she remembered how they felt
on her fingers. R.J. wasn't the type of man to get his hair
professionally styled at a high-priced salon. The man he saw did
nothing more than snip off a few inches with a pair of scissors.
Such a low maintenance thing, and it suited him perfectly. She
couldn't say for sure, but he was probably one of those guys who
didn't waste time combing his hair. He most likely shook the excess
water out with a towel and went on his way. Rough and carefree.
That was R.J. all the way.

He finished making notes and leaned back in
his chair. The pen rolled back and forth between his big, callused
palms. "What kind of color did you have in mind?"

"Orange. My dad loves orange." She adjusted
her positing in the chair and tugged the hem of her skirt down. Had
the thing been that short when she'd put it on? "And those double
white stripes. You know the ones that go over the center of the
car?"

One of his blonde brows lifted. "Z
stripes?"

"If that's what they're called, then
yes."

He nodded and folded his hands behind his
head. "What else?"

She shrugged. "That's it."

"So I can have free reign over this
thing?"

"Pretty much."

"And you trust me to do that?"

Were they still talking about her father's
car? "You're the best at what you do." When he lifted both his
eyebrows, she clarified. "With cars."

Oh my Lord, stop talking!

A sneaky grin crept along his mouth,
broadsiding her with a wave of sexual awareness. "I know what you
meant, Ms. Underwood."

They stared each other down like two people
planning their battle strategies, only R.J. had never played fair.
He was a sneaky bastard who always struck when she seemed to be the
most defenseless. She rarely had time to prepare herself for him
and always walked away exhausted, yet… strangely pleased.

Just as she was about the gather her purse
and get the hell out of Dodge, his office door opened. A nauseating
and over-powering perfume swirled around Rebecca as the woman from
the reception area let herself into R.J's office. In her arms she
carried a stack of papers and a sack from a fast food restaurant.
When she set the papers down on the desk, her balloon-like breasts
damn near fell out of her Argyle-printed v-neck sweater. Incredibly
long legs were encased in a pair of jeans so tight, they look like
they'd been sprayed on. Rebecca's natural competitive side rose
full force, but she held back the urge to stand up and fluff her
hair.

Who was she trying to impress, anyway?

"I need you to sign these," the woman said in
a sing-song voice, like she was a breath away from a really good
orgasm. "And I have this for you." She plopped the sack in R.J.'s
lap. "But without the cheese, because I know you don't like
that."

"Thank you," was all R.J. said as he picked
the bag up and moved it to the desk. He nodded his head toward the
papers. "What are those?"

She glanced at the papers. "Accounts that
need to be closed. And don't even think about putting them off
until later," the woman replied as she placed a hand on R.J.'s
shoulder. "Because you'll stick your head under a hood of one of
those cars and you'll forget all about these." She pinned Rebecca
with those clear blue eyes of hers. "He thinks a world doesn't
exist outside of a transmission. And if you think this is dirty,"
she went on, pointing to R.J.'s shirt. "You should see him at ten
o'clock at night." She ended the statement with her deep red lips
turned up in a grin, as though the sight of a dirty R.J. brought an
exceptional amount of pleasure.

Now, Rebecca wasn't about to argue with that.
But what she really wanted to do was scratch the woman's eyes out.
Which was ridiculous because The Amazon could have been a perfectly
nice woman. Underneath all that makeup and exorbitant amount of
cleavage could beat a heart of gold.

The familiarity between the two of them had
something twisting deep inside her. Something that Rebecca wasn't
about to name because it felt very similar to jealousy. The only
reason she knew that was from all years of practice; all those
years of R.J. going from one woman to the next and leaving Rebecca
to wonder why….

Why what?

She'd been nothing more than a flash in the
pan to him, which he'd acted perfectly okay with. The dark-haired
woman seemed a lot more than that to him, if the way she caressed
his shoulder was anything to go by. That hand of hers, with red
shimmery painted nails, floated back and forth over his shoulder
like he was some pet.

Unable to stomach anymore, Rebecca gathered
her purse and stood from the chair. "Call me with the bill, and
I'll come by to drop off a deposit." She just stepped through the
doorway when R.J stopped her.

"Wait."

She turned, but his attention wasn't on her.
His hand flew over the papers as he scrawled his signature at the
bottom of each one.

"Actually, we require a deposit now." The
woman's blue eyes zeroed in on Rebecca, daring her to challenge the
statement. "Ten percent."

R.J. tossed the pen down, stacked the papers
together and held them out to The Amazon. "I'm sure we can trust
Ms. Underwood. In the meantime, I need you to start a file for
her."

In other words,
I'm-dismissing-you-so-you-can-go-do-your-job. Ms. Amazon didn't
take well to the dismissal. Her fingers tightened on R.J.'s
shoulder before releasing him. Rebecca stood aside as the woman
took the papers and hurried out of the office.

Lover's quarrel? That's what it seemed like
to Rebecca, but it was really none of her business. There were
surely a lot of scorned women running around this town who had a
bone to pick with R.J. Devlin. For a long time, Rebecca had been
one of them, until she'd accepted her fate as such. She and R.J.
weren't destined to be anything more than… well, she wasn't sure
what they were.

The term "frenemies" came to mind, but even
that didn't suit.

Even sitting in his chair, R.J. consumed so
much space that the office felt like it was about to close in on
her. She supposed that was his commanding side coming out. But when
he stood, she felt the need to back up, even though she was already
standing in the doorway.

He removed a set of keys from his pants
pockets. "How are you getting to work?" he asked.

She lifted her chin. "I'm walking."

He lifted a brow in doubt and Rebecca felt
her independent streak come out in spades.

"Why does no one think I'm capable of walking
two miles?"

"I can't imagine," he said with a pointed
look at her heels.

Okay, yes. They weren't the ideal footwear
for walking to her practice. And yes, they pinched her toes after
several hours. But what other choice did she have? She'd left her
car in her parents' driveway, and she had to get to work
somehow.

R.J. rolled his eyes at her obvious lack of
common sense. "I'll drive you."

I'd rather walk barefoot. Over hot
coals
. "I'm fine," she said instead.