Revving Her Up

Dedication

To Louise Fury and Tahra Seplowin, my first and favorite writing friends whose encouragement, editing and agenting have brought me to this point. And to my husband Sasha, who started it all by saying “you could write that” over and over until I finally believed him. He’s met all my characters, heard all my stories and still hasn’t had me committed. Is that love or what?

Chapter One

Sarah Lange slid out of the low bucket seat of her Porsche convertible. Heart pounding, she rounded the vehicle’s front end and froze. Now she knew why the car had skidded out of that damned pothole, listing heavily to the right—the right front wheel stuck out at a forty-five degree angle. It reminded her of the tooth she’d knocked askew falling off her bike in the fourth grade. Somehow she suspected the repair would be even more painful.

This was so not what she needed right now. She resisted the urge to kick the bent wheel and retrieved her bag and phone from the car. The reception sucked, but she managed to get through to the roadside assistance center. After describing the damage as best she could, she sent them her coordinates. If this road had a name, it hadn’t shown up on her GPS.

Tendrils of hair stuck to her forehead. The short wool trench coat that had been perfect for a January day in Manhattan felt like a wraparound sauna here in Virginia. A trickle of sweat inched its way down her back as her shoulders crept up toward her ears.
Relax
. She removed the coat and slipped it into the car, then forced herself to take a deep breath. The scent of fresh-cut grass and cow manure filled her nostrils. Hardly the aromatherapy she’d been looking forward to. She wrinkled her nose and took another breath, a bit shallower this time.
Relax.

An hour passed. Where the hell was her tow?

She was dialing for the third time when a lone chipmunk crept out of the grass a few yards away. It approached the road, pausing at the edge of the asphalt to sniff the air.

“You can cross. I haven’t seen a car since I got off the highway.”

The creature’s head swiveled to face her, its tiny body poised for flight.

She lowered her voice. “Go on, little guy. There’s no need for both of us to be stuck here.”

The chipmunk tilted his head, as if assessing the truth of her words, then trotted out onto the asphalt. The air stirred as Sarah watched it disappear into the trees. A dull roar signaled the approach of another vehicle. Finally.

Sarah pushed away from where she’d been leaning against the car and looked down the road. She watched a blue pickup truck come to a stop on the opposite shoulder. The driver’s door opened and a man in a cowboy hat stepped out. He was tall and broad-shouldered in a way that she found immediately reassuring.

The man crossed the road with long, relaxed strides. He wore a plaid shirt over a white tee, faded jeans and worn work boots. His height forced Sarah to tilt her head back to focus on his face as he got closer. Most of it was cast into shadow by his black cowboy hat, emphasizing the strength of his jaw and the dark scruff that covered it. Even without seeing his face Sarah could tell he was attractive, if one was into big and brawny. Which she wasn’t.

Her body had reached a different conclusion. A shiver raced down her spine as the deep muscles below her navel tightened and goose bumps rose on her arms—the physical equivalent of
oooh, big, strong man!
She squared her shoulders, ignoring her primitive damsel-in-distress reaction. She needed someone to help her with her car and presumably he could. Weren’t guys in small towns always working on cars?

There couldn’t be much else to do.

Cole Cassidy hadn’t expected an eclipse today, but he couldn’t deny what he’d seen—one heavenly body passing before another. What else would he call a sexy blonde crossing in front of a Porsche convertible? Other than his lucky day.

The woman and her car were not as lucky. Even at a distance he’d seen the vehicle leaning to the right. He couldn’t tell why—he had a hard time taking his eyes off the woman standing next to it. Her hands were on her hips, a pose that stretched her black V-neck across her high, round breasts. She wore a slim black skirt and high-heeled leather boots. Sleek sunglasses hid her eyes. He didn’t need the New York plates to tell him she wasn’t from around here.

“Afternoon, ma’am.” He tipped his hat. “Car trouble?”

“That’s an understatement,” she said with a growl, dropping a cell phone into the expensive-looking purse hanging over her shoulder.

“You call for a tow?”

“Yes, but who knows how long that will take? It’s already been an hour.”

Given how few calls they got out here, Cole suspected it wouldn’t be much longer, but he didn’t want to make any promises. “Lemme see.”

He dropped into a crouch to look beneath the car. Leaning the way it was, the sports car was too low to see under. With the woman standing over him, he had no trouble checking out the spiky heels of her boots or the smooth black leather that hugged her legs up to the knees.

He stood. “Can’t see much from here. What happened?”

She huffed, making her blond bangs dance. “There’s a damned crater in the road back there. It’s right after the bend so I couldn’t see it until I was in it.”

He nodded in sympathy. “That’d do it.”

The blonde took a deep breath, her tension palpable. He resisted the urge to put a soothing hand on her arm. She didn’t seem like the type who’d appreciate the gesture. She opened her mouth to say something but was interrupted by the arrival of the tow truck from over the rise. It passed them and pulled onto the shoulder in a spray of gravel.

Cole raised a hand in greeting as a big man in an oil-stained T-shirt and John Deere ball cap got out of the truck. “Hey, Mike.”

“Cole. Whatcha doing here, man?”

“Came upon this nice lady stranded by the side of the road and stopped to see if I could help.”

The driver turned to the “nice lady” and Cole could see his eyes widen. They didn’t get women like her around here. “Ma’am,” Mike said, touching a hand to the brim of his cap.

She nodded, her lips tight.

He turned back to Cole. “Surprised to see you here. Austin heard you’d be out of town for a bit.”

Cole nodded. “I was just on my way back.”

“From Mooresville, right? I bet it was exciting, with everyone getting ready—”

The blonde stepped between them, annoyance clear on her face. “Excuse me,” she said, her tone anything but polite. “I’m in a bit of a hurry. So if you could save the catching up for later…” She waved at the car. Cole bit back a smile.

Mike’s face reddened. “Of course. What’s the problem?”

Before she could launch into an explanation, Cole spoke up. “If you’ve got it under control, Mike, I’m gonna take off.”

The woman glanced at him, surprise and something else flashing across her face. Disappointment? It was gone too quickly for Cole to be sure.

“Okay,” Mike said. “Be seeing you later, eh?”

Cole looked over at the blonde. Her arms were crossed, the toe of one leather boot tapping impatiently. Her attitude sent up all sorts of red flags but his body didn’t care. His cock stirred behind his fly.

“Oh, you can bet on it.”

Chapter Two

The middle of freaking nowhere. Sarah had assumed it was solely a figurative expression. But deep in the hills of Virginia, three hundred miles from New York City and another hundred plus miles from The Spa at Westwood, she’d found it. No reception on her cell phone. No one at the local garage who worked on Porsches. Not even a working soda machine.

According to the sign at the end of the street, the middle of nowhere was officially called
Rapture, VA
. Sarah snorted. Some name. The only pleasure she’d get from this town was watching it disappear from her rearview mirror.

She got out of her car and headed for the garage’s office. Heads turned as she passed the group of men who’d been ogling the Porsche—and her—since the tow had dropped them off. None of them appeared to actually work here so she ignored them.

The smell of engine grease assaulted her nose and twangy country music attacked her ears as she pushed through the glass door. The office chair screeched in protest as a barrel-chested man in a blue work shirt and stained jeans settled himself behind a battered metal desk.
Austin
was embroidered on his left breast pocket.

“Excuse me.” There was no response. “
Austin
.”

The man started, his eyes wide when he looked up at her. He must not have heard her over the music. She took a deep breath, pushing aside the ache that was starting in her left temple. “Look, I’ve been waiting here for God only knows how long and I want to know when someone is going to look at my car.”

“Your car. The Porsche.” His words stretched out like hot taffy.

No, the rusty pickup on the lift.
“Yes, the Porsche. The one that’s been sitting out there for well over an hour now without a single person looking at it.” She held up a hand. “Correction. Without a single qualified person looking at it.”

Austin shook his head with a patronizing look that made Sarah grit her teeth. “Thing is, honey, we don’t work on foreign cars here. I called the Porsche guys over in Richmond, but they’ll be a while. But don’t you worry about a thing. Our local expert’s on his way.”

She cringed. “Local expert?”

The man nodded. “Honey, he knows everything there is to know ‘bout sports cars. He’ll take a look at that vehicle of yours and tell you what the problem is just as fast as you please.”

She snorted. Yesterday couldn’t have been fast enough for her and if he called her “honey” one more time she was going to tell him off just as fast as she pleased.

The chair screeched again as he leaned forward and placed one meaty elbow on the desk. “Anything else I can help you with?”

She shook her head, the pain in her temple turning into a steady pounding. “No—yes.” The man looked at her quizzically.

“For God’s sake, is there anywhere I can get a Diet Coke around here?”

The cluster of men had thinned, but those who remained stared as Sarah stalked back to her car. She must have looked like some kind of exotic animal to them, her black clothes and high-heeled boots as out of place on this dusty road as the men’s worn jeans and cowboy boots would be in her Manhattan law office. And her car, which hardly signified back home, stood out among the battered pickup trucks and twenty-year-old sedans like a peacock among pigeons.

Annoyed as she was, she didn’t notice that the front end of her car was jacked up until she was practically on top of it. A man’s body stuck out from underneath it, visible from the ribs down.

She stopped in her tracks.

Faded denim hugged narrow hips. The man’s white tee had ridden up to expose abs that were flat and taut. A six-pack instead of the beer bellies sported by the men she’d seen so far. Dark hair gathered into a narrow line that parted around his navel and disappeared beneath his waistband. A brass buckle with an image of crossed racing flags cinched his leather belt. The thought of crossing that finish line made her pulse race.

The beautiful body moved, pulling the material of his jeans across his crotch and clearly outlining the bulge beneath his fly. A wave of longing swept through her, so strong that it made her knees shake. All concerns about her car fled.

If that’s what he looked like soft… Damn.

Her last lover Trent had been pretty well endowed but nothing like this guy seemed to be. He’d been fit too, but wiry. Handsome. Disappointing in bed. But this guy? The warmth in Sarah’s belly drifted south and pooled between her thighs. Her fingers twitched with the urge to touch him. Were his muscles as hard and his skin as smooth as they looked?

Whoa. She stepped back, the intensity of her reaction a total surprise. She liked a buff guy as much as the next woman but had never wanted to grope one at first sight. Her little “problem” had to be the reason she was acting strange. Months of frustration made her desperate. The man was under her car for God’s sake.

Which meant that she could stare with impunity.

She leaned forward—and he slid out from under the vehicle.

Broad shoulders and chest. Strong jaw. Black curls. She knew this guy. “You stopped on the road earlier.” It came out like an accusation.