Slow Ride (2 page)

Cooper and Saybrook had never gotten along. Saybrook had hated Cooper’s dad—for what
reason, no one knew, but he did. Cooper’s dad had died a long time ago, but that didn’t
stop Cooper from being harassed by bogus traffic stops and unpleasant visits to his
garage. Man was a fuckin’ nuisance. But Cooper had stayed calm and hadn’t gone on
the offensive. After what happened to Cheryl though, everything changed.

Cheryl and Roger—Cooper and Sam’s other best friend—had been inseparable. Somewhere
along the way, while Roger was in the military, Cheryl had gotten mixed up in drugs.
Word on the street was that Saybrook was helping one of the local crews bring in the
sludge Cheryl was using, and got his rocks off often, as part of his payment. And
then she was found dead, washed up on the beach.

When Cooper looked at the golden girl in her final resting place and saw his best
friend unable to move, sitting vigil for the two days of viewing, never leaving her
side, he knew he had to do something. Cheryl’s death was no accident.

And now here he was, having spent a lot of time and effort, yet still nowhere, except
for a long list of bogus arrests, affidavits from complainants, dropped and dismissed
charges, excessive force complaints, and information on crimes that weren’t even fully
investigated, including Cheryl’s death. But the feds had other priorities. They’d
taken copies and smiled, saying they’d look into it when they could.

“Fuck me,” he growled and pushed the thoughts from his head.

He scanned his surroundings and noticed a car parked on the side of the road. He depressed
the brake a touch, and his eyes caught the woman lying on the trunk.

“What the
hell
?” he muttered to himself and slammed on the brakes just as he passed the front of
the car. He threw his truck in reverse and swung onto the shoulder in front of the
car. He stepped down from the truck and slammed the door. He was deliberately being
loud as he did, his motorcycle boots clomping on the pavement, but the woman still
hadn’t moved. Considering his earlier thoughts about Saybrook and the utter joy the
man found in pulling people over, especially women, he felt the muscles in his jaw
tick.

As Cooper got closer his eyes moved over the woman’s frame. He could tell her legs
went on forever and were tanned all the way up to the edge of her skirt, even with
her lying down on the trunk. A mess of long, wavy, brown hair was splayed around her.
Her hips made subtle moves to music he couldn’t hear. She was not a small woman. She
had curves; hips that made his fingers itch to hold, not to mention one of the nicest
racks he’d seen in a long time. It was clear there was ample real estate for him to
grab in all the places that counted.

Him?
He swore under his breath and wondered where that thought came from. Shaking it off,
he bent down and spoke into the woman’s ear. “What the fuck are you doing?”

• • •

Kyla’s eyes flew open and she let out a scream. She scrambled across the trunk and
fell off the edge as she tried to right herself, tripping over the edge of the pavement.
She reached for the trunk with one hand to steady herself, the music player gripped
in the other. The ear buds fell down her shoulders when she finally stood on solid
ground to face the stranger.

“Quite the dismount. I asked a question.” The man lifted his arm toward the trunk
she’d been laying on. “I can see you aren’t from here,” he said, nodding to the Pennsylvania
plates, “so let me give you some advice. It’s not the smartest thing in the world
to be laying out over a car, singing. Never know who might come up on you.”

Kyla stared openmouthed at the man who had just spoken to her. He had to be six feet,
four inches, and from what she could see of his arms, his olive-toned skin hinted
at possible Italian roots somewhere in his family tree. His hair was a dark brown,
almost black, and curled at the back of his neck indicating he needed a trim, while
the top was thick, lying in a sexy, haphazard way. It looked like he had just rolled
out of bed, and for a minute Kyla’s thoughts were punctuated with the image of what
he wore in bed. Pajama bottoms? Boxers? Maybe nothing. He had the beginnings of a
five o’clock shadow on his face, which made his strong jaw more pronounced. His broad
shoulders were matched by a broad chest, and his strong thighs were currently encased
in faded jeans that seemed made for him. The light wash fit perfect against his waist
and his t-shirt looked painted on, moving with him, accentuating every delicious detail
of his form. Her eyes dipped to his feet where he wore heavy, black, motorcycle boots
that matched the belt threaded through the loops in his jeans.

“Um, hello?” His voice did the trick this time, especially given the angry edge she
heard in it.

Kyla lifted her eyes to find his blue eyes watching her. His look was intense, but
she couldn’t tell whether that boded well for her. She shifted her feet and kept her
own guarded eyes on him.

“Waiting for someone. He should be here any minute.”

“You’re waiting here for someone? You couldn’t . . . I don’t know . . . do that somewhere
other than the side of a dangerous stretch of road?”

Kyla glanced up and down the road and shrugged as her eyes came back to rest on the
man. “It doesn’t seem too dangerous to me. It seems kind of quiet actually.”

She felt the heat of his gaze and kept her back straight, her expression blank. He
was hot, sure, but he was still some strange guy, and they were the only two people
on a road that she wasn’t familiar with, and he apparently was.

When he didn’t say anything, she cleared her throat. “You can go. I got this.” Her
head tilted to her car.

“Got this?” He shook his head. “What is it you’ve ‘got’ exactly?”

Kyla huffed out a frustrated breath. “What I ‘got,’” she lifted her hand and air-quoted
the word, “is handling my car and myself. Thank you for stopping or whatever, but
you don’t need to. I told the last guy I was fine. The tow should be here soon.”

“So, car trouble? You’re not meeting someone here?”

“Uh, yeah I am. The tow truck guy my auto club sent. That’s why you don’t need to
stop.”

Kyla lifted one hand to her hip and leaned against the trunk. She watched his eyes
travel over her body, and when he smiled, she sucked in a breath. His eyes crinkled
at the corners and it brightened his whole face. Hell, his whole demeanor changed.
His muscles seemed to relax and the hard expression on his face was replaced with
something just this side of friendly. If it was possible, it made him more good looking.

“Car trouble. See now that is something I can handle.” His low voice rumbled through
the late spring air, and he walked to the front of the Mustang and pulled up the hood.

“Hey, I don’t want you touching my car. I want someone with experience with . . .
well cars, looking at her.” The man didn’t respond and her eyes narrowed. She watched
in both horror and fascination as he bent forward and his large hands pulled and prodded
at the insides. Shaking off thoughts of his hands on her, Kyla walked right up to
him, and made a grab for his hands. “Stop it—you’re going to break her more than she
is already! Lola is sensitive and doesn’t like just anyone touching her.”

He lifted his head and then straightened. Before she knew what he was doing, his hands
were at her waist and he picked her up, depositing her on the trunk of the car.

“Don’t move.”

Her mouth was agape as she watched him walk back to the front, disappear under the
hood, and eventually shut it. He came back toward her, staring the entire time.

“She’s nearly dead. She might be able to be revived, but for the amount of money you’d
need to put into her, it might not be worth it. Though it’s a ‘67, so that in itself
makes it worth it. Least for me it would. They don’t make cars like this anymore.”

“Are you . . . who do you think . . . I cannot believe you!” Kyla’s cheeks felt hot
as her temper flared. She stomped her booted foot on the side of the road, her fists
clenched. “You just picked me up and. . .” Her hand waved at the trunk. “Have you
lost your mind?”

He seemed unaffected by her anger. Instead his eyes danced with amusement and the
corners of his mouth tipped up.

She was distracted by the smile, but only for a moment. “This is not funny. Not funny
at all! You just
touched
me. Just go. Just get away from me.” She didn’t know if she was more pissed at him
for doing what he did, or at herself for not fighting him.

His head canted to the side, his eyes on her the entire time. “Did I hurt you?”

Kyla felt no pain. In fact, she felt the opposite. “That isn’t the point. You can’t
just put your hands on someone else’s car, and then on her, and then back on the car,
especially when you were told not to. You need a lesson in manners,” she snapped at
him.

“You told me to not touch the car. You didn’t say I couldn’t touch you.”

He flashed a cheeky grin and Kyla felt her cheeks get hotter. “What were you saying
about my car?”

“You’re looking at a few grand or so, with parts and labor, to get her running again.”

“A what! There is no freaking way it will cost that much. How is that even possible?
And how do you know that anyway?” Kyla crossed her arms over her chest. “I will wait
for the mechanic.”

For some reason this made him grin even wider. He leaned toward her, and Kyla stiffened.
“Honey, I
am
the mechanic, only one around for about thirty-five miles. You want to walk that
far to get a second opinion about your vehicle, fine. Even if you do though, mechanics
there won’t be near as good as me. I’m the best there is. Good with my hands.”

She blinked, having no doubt a man like the one who stood before her was good with
his hands. In fact, he was probably good with a lot of things. “So, where am I exactly,
that there would only be one mechanic for thirty-five miles?”

He shook his head. “Jesus, you don’t even know where you are? Seriously not smart.”
His hand swiped over his face and he sighed. “You made it to Ashten Falls, a town
well north of Portland. Not much else around for miles other than a bunch of state
parks, wildlife preserves, and some small towns and villages.”

He took several steps closer and Kyla instinctively stepped back. It was habit. A
bad one, but one she couldn’t shake. She saw his brows arch but kept her face blank.
She didn’t respond to his comment, and kept her feet planted just in case she had
to run. It was instinct. She always had to be ready to run.

“I got the call when I was coming back into town. Phil, one of the guys from the garage,
is on his way with the tow. We’ll have your car towed and I’ll give you a lift to
the motel in town. The town usually only plays host to fishermen and hunters who come
up around these parts, and bikers or tourists in the summer who head to festivals
in neighboring towns. But for the most part, it always has available rooms. Anyway,
the owner of the motel is a doll. Her name is Rose, and someone there will help you
get settled while you sort out your transportation.”

She leaned on the door of her Coupe, going over her finances in her head. “I don’t
have . . . no way do I have that kind of money. I mean, not on me.” She would be lucky
to have enough to get her through the next couple weeks for food and a motel. No way
could she afford the car repairs.

“Well, let’s figure that out later, unless you want to camp out here. I’ll still tow
the thing in, no charge. Worst-case scenario, I’ll buy it off ya. Hop in,” he said,
motioning to his truck. “Name’s Cooper Moretto by the way.”

Kyla’s jaw dropped. “I will not be selling Lola, as in. . . ever!” she hissed, reaching
in and grabbing a few small bags. “And what about my stuff? I don’t want it stolen
while it sits here.”

Cooper was dialing his phone but staring right at her, an incredulous look on his
face. “Lola? Really? Good lord, woman. That’s. . . wrong on so many levels. Who names
their classic 1967 Mustang Coupe, Lola
?
” He stared at her, hands on his hips, and shook his head.

“It’s
my
car, so I will call her whatever I want. And when I got her, I asked her what her
name was, and the first one that came to me was Lola.”

Cooper blinked. “You asked the car her name? Are you serious?” She scowled at the
amused look on his face, though she couldn’t deny he looked even better with his lips
tipped up at the corners. “Babe, that’s kind of. . . crazy.”

“Yes, I’m serious,” she snapped, getting agitated now. “My grandfather gave it to
me when I graduated college, and he told me to let it talk to me. So I did.” She shifted
her feet, her hands squarely on her hips. “Any other insults you’d like to throw my
way?”

Whoever he was calling must have answered because he didn’t respond other than with
his grin, which got wider. Kyla grabbed a few of her bags and tossed them in the back
of the truck.

Cooper hung up and leaned against the tailgate. “Phil will be here in a few. You want
anything else out of here before he rigs it up to the tow?”

She bit her lip, her eyes flicking to the contents in the back seat. “Um, this one
too.” She reached in to grab the biggest of the bags, stuffed to capacity, when his
hand closed over hers.

“I got it, doll. You women and your shit.” He grunted as he grabbed hold of the bag
and tugged it out, tossing it in the back with a soft
thud.
“What the hell you got in here? Gold bars?” His hand moved to the zipper and tugged,
grinning like a fool as he stared down at the mounds of lace and skimpy material,
his eyes making a slow slide over Kyla.

She smacked at his hands, pushing her hip against his body, which did not budge even
an inch. “Don’t look in there!” She yanked at the zipper to close the bag. “Not cool.”

His body shook with laughter and he stepped back. “Not like it’s the first time I’ve
ever seen a woman’s panties, though usually I’m taking ‘em off when I see ‘em.” He
kept his tone light, not hiding the fact he was enjoying teasing her.